Artists of Illusions
by DarkNexus4050
Summary: Do you ever wonder where SHIELDS's finest agents get their clothes from? Enter Scott Shen, a new clothing designer fresh out of the academy, prepared for everything... except his team.Will he rise to the challenge? Or will he will he crash and burn?
1. Chapter 1

It was 4 in the morning in Paris when the helicopters landed.

Scott was awake of course. Sleep to an insomniac, is like one of those triple decker subs. Nice to think about when you're hungry, but hard to eat when it's right there on your plate.

The steady whir of the metal blades cut through the contented air of the quiet little cul-de-sac, and the effect was nearly immediate, as drowsy students voiced their disapproval of the early wakeup call to varying degrees of volume.

He got up from the well worn desk chair to check his uniform for potential wrinkles and stains he might have missed, all the while scanning his dorm room for any remnants of his stay here. None. The posters and pictures had been taken down, everything scrubbed down to the point of sterility, ready for the next student to enter. His eyes scanned around the room for the last time, strangely nostalgic for the place he'd sketched, sewed, lived for the last four years. Then started the pangs at the back of his mind. What if he wasn't good enough? What if he doesn't adjust well? What if?.

It had been this way since childhood, always quietly doubting himself, hated being insecure like this, but there was no sign he'd ever stop. after calming himself down by quietly by counting from a hundred to one in Mandarin, Scott took a deep breath. He was ready for opened his door door and was hit in the face by a suitcase.

A suitcase, for crying out loud. What kind of nitwit throws a giant-ass suitcase?

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry! I was aiming for the wall, I swear!" someone shrieked. Apparently this person did, lucky me.

Scott's head ached after finally got up off the floor, how long had he been there? He stared into the mirror in denial. There was a faint bruise already blooming on his jaw, and the dress uniform that he'd so carefully ironed the past night was now mussed up and covered in specks of dust and dirt. Someone is going to pay dearly for this. He turned around to see someone running away for dear life with a brightly colored suitcase in their hand.

And that kids, is how a hit and run works.

After sighing and giving up the chase, his eyes glanced over to the clock and saw the time. 4:27. Three minutes until he was expected in the dining hall

Crap. He grabbed the shoes neatly stacked against the wall and started tugging them on. The uniform was definitely ruined, but I wouldn't have the time to change. perhaps they wouldn't notice and think I'm some grubby toddler that couldn't take care of himself. Yep, they totally wouldn't.

Besides, I had already passed the interview.

The portfolio I had carefully sketched out and sifted through for so many months was a product of mind-burning work, confections of satin and silk with stripes of cashmere and lace passing intermittently through many pages. The interviewer had scanned over each creation I had worked nights through for, a flicker of a smile passing through every time she had paused for an extra second or so on a page. After she had reached the end, she had looked up given me a handshake, and said "Welcome to SHIELD, Mr. Shen. I believe it will be quite a long time until we can say goodbye."

I hadn't understood what she had meant about that for a very long time. I understand now.

The dining hall was loud to the point of irritation. Not only was the graduating class there, but also everyone else that had woken from the din and demanded to eat breakfast and say farewell. Weaving carefully through the crowd, (remember this bit of advice: never trip over a sleep deprived agents, they're practically piranhas at this state,) Scott slipped an apple and a breakfast bar into his pocket for later.

It was supposedly good timing, since the second after he'd had turned around, the huge oaken doors that were only used rarely in the front of the hall opened.

In came a rather portly man wearing a rather itchy looking tweed suit and an expression that was both weary and disgruntled - kind of like the ones worn by substitute teachers in reform school classrooms. Stopping in the middle of the hall, he cleared his throat and looked up expectantly. As if by magic, everyone including Scott fell into line, and the floaters decided to float on by out the doors.

"All right, now here's how it's going to go." The man said "At the moment, we've added many new bases and locations to accommodate for the... erm, a future project we've been considering, so you lot'll be spread out pretty thin across the globe, split into groups of two or three. Now, let's hurry up and get started." He started to rattle on a list of names and places, most of which he had zoned out for because he was too busy wondering. Would I be placed with complete strangers? Would we get along? Would they have Netflix wherever I'm going? Yes sirree,all the important, hard hitting questions were being asked.

"-and Scott Shen, heading to Design Building No. 005, located in Greenwich Village, Manhattan." He snapped back into focus at the sound of his name.

New York? I've actually been to the States only for short field trips. The people living there were brutally honest, fast-paced people with places to be and things to see, a far cry from what I've been around all my life. It'll be a welcome change, and change is supposed to be good, Right?

Right?...


	2. Chapter 2

Scott hated the hangar.

He knew that the planes in the drafty warehouse were once beautiful, but now they were old, scuffed with dirt and pockmarks with rust spots. They were hand me downs from more important divisions of SHIELD. The warehouse was abandoned most of the time, and it was so cold his breath wafted in front of him in little white clouds.

But what he hated the most was the smell of the place. It was rank. Engine oil and stale cigarettes mingled together with antifreeze and engine exhaust. His nose itched uncomfortably while he walked down to the end, pulling a suitcase with him, and he stifled a sneeze. Scott tried not to be a snob, but this place steered way out of his comfort zone.

There, in front of a retired jet was his team. He'd seen one of them in some of his more technical, mandatory classes like sewing machine repair and the like. She had her hair cut neatly into a bob and a manicure. Her appearance was a little like a privileged socialite that you meet at a country club. She was looking around the place in interest rather than derision, unlike he was. Definitely not a socialite then.

The other was scribbling something frantically in a note stuffed book. He had bright blue hair and a puzzled frown, like he wasn't quite sure what was happening and what was your name again?

When they spotted him, the girl, what was her name? He vaguely remembered it was _A-something_, waved to him cheerfully and Blue's Clues looked up and tucked the notebook away. Scott stopped at the side of the plane and looked around. Where was the pilot?

The girl noticed his confusion and explained, "The pilot went to grab some joe, he looked kinda tired. I was actually expectin' a girl for the women's designer, but it's the 21st century, right? Anyways, I'm Alice, techie extraordinaire. You must be Scott."

He gave a smile and a handshake to her, even if her comment stung slightly. He's heard worse. Besides, tech experts, or techies, are the lodestone of a design team. They add concealed weapons and body armor to jewelry and clothing, (which is essential to field agents for obvious reasons) they design the uniforms, the flight suits, and essentially make a regular outfit into a weapon. Without them, I might as well be just an ordinary Joe.

The two stood in silence for a while, before Alice added, "So I was thinking about incorporating weaponized fibulae into a dress. How would that work?"

That got me. I've always loved talking about my craft. I guess I'll always be that one guy at a party that goes full out nerd and throws everyone out of their depth.

Oh well...

They got into a discussion about fibulae and brooches, and before they knew it, the pilot sauntered in, eyes bloodshot and breath ragged. He looked like he'd just run a marathon, and judging by the size of the place, it wasn't hard to understand.

"So… Sorry" he gasped "Machine.. broke. Found another one."

He limped past, forcing the cabin door open and climbing in. Reluctantly, the others followed him into the rustbucket.

The plane, if you can call it that, was even worse on the inside. The upholstery looked like it had been ripped by giant claws, and there was a faint red stain in a corner, from what Scott didn't want to know.

He sat gingerly on the edge of one seat, and looked up to see Alice staring at him, amused.

"You've never had it this bad, have you?" she teased.

All Scott could do was smile sheepishly.

"This isn't even as bad as some of the others. I took Plane Repair for a while, and let me just say, I've never seen weirder things outta that class."

" You were in Plane Repair? Why?"

She shrugged. " I had a free period during that spot, and I figured, why not?"

"I would have taken a nap, if it were me," Blue hair added, looking up.

"Dude, this is a SHIELD academy. Does too smart for their own good, bored student population ring a bell?"

_She has a point. One time, this underclassman fell asleep in the rec room, and my classmates duct-taped him to the ceiling. At least I don't have that problem. _

"What is your name anyway? I'm Alice, and this is Scott."

"..Tyler."

"You're very quiet."

"How observant, Alice. " Scott added

She made a face at him.

The plane started to lurch and shake even more than usual. Scott froze.

Alice squinted and pronounced, "We're landing."

Dang. This plane may be unsafe as crap, but it does it's job. Basically, what SHIELD values.

Scott peered out the window. The dense white fog of the clouds disappeared as they inched back towards the ground. Buildings started to get bigger and they plummeted their way onto a Laguardia air strip.


End file.
